


First Meeting

by miscreant_rose



Category: Downton Abbey
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-27
Updated: 2013-11-27
Packaged: 2018-01-02 19:41:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,034
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1060804
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/miscreant_rose/pseuds/miscreant_rose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A fluffy one-shot of Mary's meeting of a new man in her life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	First Meeting

**Author's Note:**

> Always wanted to write some snippets of Mary after the birth of George, and after seeing a prompt given to another friend on tumblr, I flailed, and asked if I could share my version as well. Luckily, lala-kate and gazelle-legs are both so generous and awesome, they said the more the merrier, and yes, I should write and share my version as well.
> 
> I think this will be my springboard of my AU S4 here M/M still exist and work on having many more babies….

The waves of pain that has crashed into her with relentless force had finally eased, leaving her limp and somnolent on the calming waters.  Try as she might, her eyelids refused to open.  Every time she thought she was ready to surface, sleep would sweep in to wrap around her, pulling her back under into a weightless bliss.  Voices echoed somewhere as she drifted, just a little longer, just a moment more in this sweet escape, easing that dull and distant ache.  A gentle swell lifted her back up again, toward the voices, but she hung there, caught up in the sensation of a firm embrace, weightless as she spun slowly in a world of white.                                                     

* * *

She blinked, unsure if she was waking or caught in that same white landscape as before.  Light bounced off walls and painted wood moldings, all of it so clean, so bright.  The dull ache was closer now, and she could feel another’s hand wrapped around her own.

“Mary?  Are you awake?”  The hand stroked hers as she turned her head toward the voice and blinked several time before she was able to focus on Isobel.

“I … I think so.”  Her mouth was sticky and dry.   “Might I have some water?”

“Ah, that’s better, I think you are with us this time.”  Isobel nodded to someone on the other side of the bed.  “You’ve tended to answer with a bit of nonsense as we were settling you back in.”

“Did I?  Nothing too revealing, I hope.”  She rubbed at her eyes with her free hand, trying to push away the last bits of sleep that wanted to cling and weigh her back under, her mind still cloudy, trying to desperately push through the fog to where she needed to be, to find what she was waiting for.  

Isobel chuckled and patted her hand.  “No, no, all is safe.”  She leaned over to help Mary to sit as she began to shift in the bed.  “Careful now, let me get a few more pillows to put behind you.”  Mary caught sight of the nurse approaching with a water carafe, as Isobel plumped and settled pillows against the head of the bed.  “There we are now.  Better?”

Mary nodded as she leaned back, gratefully taking the glass of water offered by the nurse.  Her thoughts nearly as parched as her throat, she was suddenly reminded of where she was and why.  Gasping out a tiny “Oh!” she looked at Isobel who was beaming back at her.  Her panic eased slightly at Isobel’s clearly pleased expression, but still…

“Are you ready to meet your son?” Isobel asked softly, face shining with joy.

_A son._   Their little prince.  All Mary could do was nod as she handed off the water glass, following Isobel with anxious eyes as the older woman crossed to the bassinet set close to the foot of the bed.  A bundle swaddled in white linen and lace was brought forward and placed gently into Mary’s arms.  Her breath caught as she stared into the tiny face peering up through the folds of cloth.  She felt herself weightless and spinning again as she was swept into a wave of love and joy, every little feature of their son burning itself onto her heart, the soft weight of him against her imprinting on her soul.  

“Oh, goodness,” she breathed, her voice shaky.  “Hello there.”  She gently touched his face, her fingers carefully moving over the round cheeks, the slight hint of a chin peeking through the soft lines of his face.  Everything about him looked exactly like Matthew, from the bowed lips set in the same sweet pout, to his nose, to the hint of the straight set of his brows — or where they would be when soft downy baby-hair would be replaced.  She brushed at the silky brown hair that covered his head.  “So dark,” she murmured, trying to take it all in.

“We’ll have to wait and see about that,” Isobel said quietly.  “Matthew’s hair was the same shade when he was born but came in much lighter later.”

Mary nodded, unable to take her eyes off of the sweet bundle nestled so perfectly against her.  She watched as his chubby face began to scrunch up, eyes squeezing tighter shut as his lips pursed before opening in a tiny round ‘o’ of a yawn.  He smacked his lips and gave a gentle squeak as he stretched his limbs for a moment before letting out a mighty sigh for one so small, settling even deeper against Mary as if he recognized this was where he needed to be.

“We’ll just leave you two alone a moment to get to know each other better.”  Isobel placed a gentle hand on Mary’s shoulder before slipping from the room. 

Barely aware of anything but the sight of her son, Mary continued to let herself be enraptured, her heart near bursting with the new, instant love she was caught up in.  

“You look just like your father,” she breathed down at him, lost in the feel of him against her.  She had never realized that her arms had felt so empty before this moment.  “He is going to be so proud, so happy to meet you.”  Her eyes warmed as she found them filling with tears of happiness.  “And I’m so happy to meet you.  I’ve waited far too long to meet you,” she whispered, stroking her hand gently over his head, cupping it there, marveling on how it fit so perfectly in the curve of her hand.  

He let out another gentle sigh, one arm working its way free from the layers of linen and lace, tiny hand reaching out and finding Mary’s thumb where her hand cradled him.  She watched as his wee fingers curled there around her, a gentle contented grasp that seemed to go straight to her soul.  All at once she knew that she was his, that he held her in his tiny hand, and she would do anything to hold on to this moment.  For all that there would be so many more firsts for them, nothing would ever be as enormous or more precious to her than this.


End file.
